The men in my house are all the sensitive type. In the movies, the empathetic man always gets the girl. In books, the female protagonist is always drawn to the strong, sensitive hunk with the sideways grin. In reality, especially in a small two-bedroom house, sensitivity is not necessarily a plus.

H-T can actually feel his hair getting cut. Seriously. If Supernanny had been around when he was 3 or 4 years old, I SO would have bought her a plane ticket across the pond so she could witness the monthly ritual I now fondly call “The Hair Exorcism.” Writhing spitting, flailing, and heads turning 360 degrees were par for the course at each trim. When H-T finally got enough verbal acumen, he was able to explain that all those antics were due to the fact that getting his hair cut physically hurt. For 3 or 4 more years, I calmly explained in scientific terms even Steve Hawking would approve of that it is virtually impossible for the brain to feel pain in something that doesn’t even have nerve endings. When H-T got even more verbal acumen, he asked me to test him. I would stand behind him with the scissors, and he would raise his hand anytime he felt me actually splice through a follicle. I’m here to declare to Stephen Hawking and the rest of the scientific world at large that some people have nerve endings in their hair. The kid was right every single time. Thank God for Cartoon Network. I finally learned to hold my snips until Ed, Edd, and Eddy had done something so side-splittingly-funny that H-T hardly noticed the surgery I was performing sans anesthesia.

R-T can only watch television in the dark. In the pitch black dark. Otherwise, the ultraviolet lights from lamps, other appliances, and god-forbid that ball in the sky, cast reflections on the screen, and obstruct his view. When we were dating, I thought he was just trying to get fresh every time he reached across me to pull the lamp cord. I was flattered. Now? I’ve become like those fish in caves that go blind because they aren’t exposed to enough natural light. I’m having to get my glasses prescription changed twice a month. I figure I’ve got about two good years of eyesight left.

The most tragic example of the sensitivity in this household has cropped up in the last couple of weeks. It has affected our family closeness, and mealtime togetherness is now a thing of the past. Uber has suddenly developed the ability to hear us chew our food. We’ve tried to stop. Honest we have. But you can only do the Heimlich on each other so many times before you realize that pork chops don’t pass through the esophagus without some previous breakdown. So back to chewing we went. Uber, completely mortified and nauseated by our primitive ways, has taken to eating far from the sounds of our caveman feasting.

I understand a woman’s yearning for a sensitive soul to share life with. Fabio makes for a beautiful cover boy. And who can resist Peter Parker in all his superhero angst. But I gotta be honest, folks. There are times when Larry the Cable Guy starts looking awfully good in those wife-beaters. Whatcha wanna bet that when he reaches across his woman, he’s not thinking about getting a better view of Anderson Cooper 360?